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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29508504">So... Here We Are</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeast_haw/pseuds/yeast_haw'>yeast_haw</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Stupid Fucking Bird, Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Crossover, Dream Smp, Explosions, Gen, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Minor Derealization, Minor Injuries, Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Tags Are Hard, Wilbur Soot Angst</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 02:22:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,285</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29508504</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeast_haw/pseuds/yeast_haw</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Wilbur's final scene x Stupid Fucking Bird (a parody of Chekhov's Seagull)  </p>
<p>Wilbur's tailspin into destruction. Phil attempt to placate him. All of it is doomed from the start. There is no rest for the tormented.</p>
<p>(dialogue included is from the November 16th scene of L'manberg getting blown up and Con's monologue in scene 35 + some ending lines)</p>
<p>I'm bad at summaries, but I am proud of myself! I put so much energy into this, and it's a straight banger<br/>-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Wilbur Soot &amp; Phil Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>So... Here We Are</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Cold, damp stone. Walls stricken with the writings of a madman. Of him. Wilbur’s boots clacked on the ground, taking a steading breath as he entered. Standing in the middle of the room, his head turned slowly as he took his last looks at what surrounded him. Oh, how the mighty had fallen. Eyes skimmed the lyrics written, almost illegible. L’manberg. What had once been his kingdom, his home. Shrunken down into this cobbled cave, dashed and soon to be destroyed. It was almost fitting.</p>
<p>“There was a special place- there was- was a special place where men could go and emancipate, ya know, and there definitely was that- that special place did exist once, it did, it did.” He rambled softly, to no one but himself. It didn’t matter that there was no audience. Any words said here were just for him, to explain his own actions to himself. “Even with Tubbo in charge, I don’t think it can exist again. I don't think it can exist again.” Wilbur fell silent, lost in his thoughts before shaking his head, purpose dawning on his face. “The button is right there.”</p>
<p>Clutching at his chest, as if his jacket was a support system, Wilbur walked towards the button, staring down at its majesty. Impending relief and finality were on his horizon, he could nearly taste it. It was coming to an end. His fingers loosened on his jacket, the fabric clinging microscopically, if only for a second, to his gloves. A feeble chance to grab onto what was left of his life. Hand outstretched to the button, just about to caress it, what he so desperately wanted- no, needed- to end it all.</p>
<p></p><div>
  <p><em> So… here we are. Fuck. </em> </p>
</div><p>With that hand, however, he couldn’t help the sudden rage that washed over him in a tidal wave as he stared at that simple little button in front of him. Something so small, yet so deadly, and able to end all of his pain. He worked so hard for this, and now this was where he ended up. All of his work boiled down to a damn button. It was ridiculous, yet infuriating, and he found himself shouting: “THE THING THAT I BUILT THIS NATION FOR DOESN'T EXIST ANYMORE! TH-TH-THE THING I WORKED TOWARDS DOESN'T EXIST ANYMORE!” He broke down, rubbing his hands across his face in despair. He couldn’t keep going like this, this couldn’t be allowed to continue anymore. His breathing shuddered, face slipping back to a mask devoid of any clear emotion. “It’s over.” Wilbur said, like it was a grounding phrase, something that kept him on the track, a motto for his darkest yet brightest day. He repositioned with confidence, hand just starting to-</p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>
    <em>Fuck!!!</em>
  </p>
</div><p>Wilbur felt movement behind him before he heard anything. Immediately, his shoulders tensed, fingers locked in the air, ready to pull the trigger.</p>
<p>“L’manberg, huh?”</p>
<p>Not him, anyone but him. Time seemed to freeze as Wilbur moved to face Phil, a manic smile starting to plaster itself on his face. Licking his lips, he replied, “I will admit- do you know what this button is?” Wilbur’s hand slowly lowered as he tried to keep smiling at Phil. He was sweating, nervous.
Phil just stared at him, gaze tracking from the level of his hand back to his face. “I do.” He said, stepping closer to Will, crossing his arms. He waited for more words to fall out of his mouth, crossing his arms, nothing more than a disappointed dad.</p>
<p>Wilbur let out a quick, crazed laugh, hastily pushing back his hair. His eyes darted from Phil, to the walls, to back to Phil. “Have you heard the song on the walls?  I was just saying- I made this big point, and it was poignant, and it-” </p>
<p></p><div>
  <p> <em>This is my life. My life! I tried-</em></p>
</div><p>    “There was a special place where men could go but there- there's not anymore, ya know, it’s not-” His speech was stuttered, thoughts going too fast to keep up with him. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, it wasn’t supposed to be this hard. If Phil just hadn’t…</p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>
    <em>And I failed.</em>
  </p>
</div><p>“It is there, you've just- you've just won it back, Will.” The man tilted his head, making every movement and word said slow and calm. Treating Wilbur as if he was a rabid animal. He was feral, unhinged. The caution was not far from the truth. </p>
<p></p><div>
  <p><em>So I tried again, and I didn't fail better, I failed more!!! The story of my life has been written, and the cliff notes version is:</em> </p>
</div><p>“PHIL, I'M ALWAYS SO CLOSE TO PRESSING THIS BUTTON, PHIL! I have- I have been here like seven or eight times. I've been here seven or eight times.” He lashed out, hands clenched into fists and teeth bared. He was rocketing through all of his emotions, like he was experiencing all the stages of grief at the same time. His fist raised, poised to strike. </p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>
    <em>YOU FUCKING SUCK!</em>
  </p>
</div><p>It took all his effort not to slam the wall, but just as quickly as the anger entered, his body deflated once more, hand sinking back down to his side. It bounced against his hip, potential energy wasted. The emotional highs and lows came as fast as his thoughts did and were just as draining. </p>
<p></p><div>
  <p> <em>Which, I guess I’ve always known… </em></p>
</div><p>“Phil, they’re fighting, they’re fighting…” Wilbur raised his shaking hands as if to cover his ears, wanting to block out everything but this room right there. His movements were erratic and dangerous. Phil stood his ground as his son emotionally crumpled before him. </p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>
    <em>So what now? What’s the point of going on? What’s the motherfucking point? My life is a fucking disaster! </em>
  </p>
</div><p>“And you just want to blow it all up?” Phil raised an eyebrow at him, emotions still in check, his facade not falling. Oh, how he wanted to stretch a hand out to console, or do something other than stand there and watch his son fall. He longed for it, but he could feel in his bones that this was not a counseling situation. Wilbur had gone to another end of the pool that Phil had never experienced before. This all felt like a meager attempt to pull him back from drowning, but how do you save someone who forces the water into their lungs?</p>
<p>Wilbur took a long look at Phil, crestfallen, determined. He sighed and it seemed like it took all his effort to start up again. “I do- I think I-'' He didn’t continue, or couldn’t continue, wistfully looking towards that small wooden savior. There was no changing his mind. </p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>
    <em>“Love" is a- a- a shipwreck! And my "art" has about as much chance of changing the world as fucking- fucking- fucking...CONGRESS! </em>
  </p>
</div><p>“You- you fought so hard to get this land back, so hard.” Phil’s mouth twisted into a frown, his crossed arms now seeming more so like he was holding himself. Holding himself in comfort, or holding himself back? He hardly knew. Phil couldn't understand it, how Wilbur had sunk so low, reached such a point. If only he could have seen it sooner, if he had known...</p>
<p>Wilbur stared askance at the ground, scoffing lightly. If only Phil understood. The time, the energy… and even so… “I don’t- I don’t even know if it works anymore, Phil. I don't even know if the button works. I could- I could press it, and it might-” He cut himself off, biting his lip. Head tilted up, eyes flashing to the button. It was beckoning him, teasing him, so deliciously in grasp.</p>
<p>Phil was incredulous, not looking at him with new eyes, but more with shock of the situation. Do you really want to take that risk?” He found himself laughing after saying that. Despite the very real situation they were in, he couldn’t help it. “There is a lot of TNT potentially connected to that button.” His stance eased, letting his guard down, even though the energy in the room hadn’t changed. Phil couldn’t explain his change in stature or why it felt right. Perhaps it was his subconscious knowing it was already too late. </p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>
    <em>What the fuck are you laughing at? Is this funny to you? Enjoying my pain? Do you have any idea what happens next? Do you?</em>
  </p>
</div><p>    That laugh, that careless laugh, flipped a switch in Wilbur. His resolve hardened, his face changed, hostility encroached. He couldn’t feel anger at Phil, could he? No, anger towards the world. Towards his problems, towards his impending demise which laid in this cave. It was settled for him. Stepping into that bunker had been one thing, one step. There was only a small chance when he entered that he would leave the same as he did before. That wasn’t the story anymore.</p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>
    <em>This is where I die. Yep, that's right, campers, I die. Anguished tears. Burn my manuscripts. Despair, despair, despair... Gun shot!</em>
  </p>
</div><p>“Phil… there was a saying, Phil.” Wilbur said, speech slowed and carefully considered. No sudden movements. Feet inched closer to the button as he kept his eyes on Phil. A smile began to tug at the corners of his mouth, peeking through the cracks of the mask. He was never very good at hiding emotions for long, was he?</p>
<p></p><div>
  <p><em>And then you cry. You CRY.</em> </p>
</div><p>“There was a saying, Phil, uh, by a traitor, uh, once part of L’manberg, a traitor I don't know if you've heard of, Eret?” More minuscule steps, more eye contact. He had to be suspicious by this point, but Will would not let anything stop him. A goal was in mind, and a goal would be completed. </p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>
    <em>This is where the play ends, I'm fucking dead, Nina's shithouse crazy, everyone else prances on their merry way, and no one's life is changed! Right? Right?!?</em>
  </p>
</div><p>Phil was, in fact, on edge. He could sense it coming, but like watching a car wreck while driving, he couldn’t do anything but be a useless rubberneck. Dread filled him stone cold, a sinking feeling suffocating him in his chest. “Yeah.” He found himself saying, but it was more of a dream than if he consciously chose the word to say. Everything was moving in slow motion, and he could almost hear a clock ticking in the back of his head, letting him know that it was mere seconds from falling apart. </p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>
    <em>Another play, over and done, and once again NOTHING REAL has happened!!</em>
  </p>
</div><p>“He had a saying, Phil.” Silence hung in the air, the tension palpable. There was no mistaking that Wilbur was dead in front of the button, his fingers just seconds from pressing down. Phil couldn’t do anything. Somehow, he had allowed Wilbur to walk such a short distance without any objection. Dear god, what had they become? </p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>
    <em>Well, this is just a stupid fucking play and maybe I don't want to shoot myself in the head! Maybe I want to go on like this forever, wallowing in- in- in self-pitying existential angst from production, to production, to production, to production until the end of time! </em>
  </p>
</div><p>The silence continued to last. It was thick and neither made a move. Checkmate, or so it should have been, but the world kept turning. The board got reset, the show ended, the curtains closed. </p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>
    <em>Maybe I want to go on losing and failing and losing and--</em>
  </p>
</div><p>“It was never meant to be.” </p>
<p>The blast was so much louder than how Wilbur imagined it would be. It was deafening, leaving him with ringing in his ears and disorientation. The force propelled him back, hard, like he was slammed in the chest by a truck. “Oh my god! You didn’t!” Phil cried out from behind him over the chaos, running to shield him, wings arcing over Wilbur’s body as he hurried to protect him from what he could. The scent of burning filled the room, charred remains of Phil’s wings falling around him from the fire let off in the explosion. The price he paid for family, his ultimate sacrifice.<br/>
Shouts could be heard from those outside the room, panicked and screaming as the bombs exploded. They could hear crying, exclamations as people tried to find their friends. Smoke clogged the atmosphere as rubble rained down. Dust, cacophony, terror. Despite it all, Wilbur smiled.</p>
<p>Cuts lined his face and debris covered his body, but still he shook Phil off, squirming out of his grasp to look at the destruction he caused. For the first time that day, he truly grinned with extreme happiness. Stood tall, arms spread wide, he sighed in great relief. He felt freer than he had in ages. His magnum opus, finally complete. Never had such a weight been lifted from him before. It felt like chasing a high, only perhaps this was the greatest high he would ever experience in his life.</p>
<p>“WILL!” Phil yelled, unsteadily pulling himself off the ground. His injured wing curled close to his body, folded in on itself as ruined feathers slowly fell off with each step. “IT’S ALL GONE!” He laughed, totally in shock now. Clapping a hand over his mouth, Phil couldn’t do anything but gape at the damage. In all his years, never had he seen anything like it. Not to this extent, to this grandeur. It was truly the workings of a long decayed man. There was no shred of Will left that he recognized.</p>
<p>Wilbur whirled around to face him, frenzied glee in his eyes as he swung a hand around to gesture to the carnage. “MY L’MANBERG, PHIL! MY UNFINISHED SYMPHONY, FOREVER UNFINISHED! IF I CAN'T HAVE THIS NO ONE CAN, PHIL.” Tears of joy were leaking down his cheeks until the gears could be seen clicking into place behind his eyes. A split second of change, almost on a whim, and he surged towards Phil, a new goal to achieve in his mind. It hadn't been part of his original plan, at least not in a way that he could remember. Maybe this was always how it was supposed to go though. </p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>
    <em>Oh, but wait! Then where's the catharsis? This is a "play" or whatever, right, so we gotta have some kind of catharsis or you'll all want your fucking money back.</em>
  </p>
</div><p>“KILL ME, PHIL! Phil, kill me. Phil, kill me.” Wilbur was hyper, pulling the sword from his belt and thrusting it into Phil’s hands before he could even have time to think. Pressing the cold metal into the palms of the man who had just kept him safe, Wilbur licked his lips and smiled. This was right. This was what had to happen. “Phil, stab me with the sword, murder me now! Kill- kill me! Do it, kill me, Phil! Murder me. Look, they all want you to.” Wilbur threw a hand out to the crowd that was beginning to form in the distance, of those picking themselves back up weakly, recuperating from the blast, getting their bearings. They were in fact staring at the duo, looks of surprise, betrayal, and hurt littering their faces. Let loose the trauma of war. </p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>
    <em>Has anyone seen the catharsis? We didn't forget to bring it did we?!?!</em>
  </p>
</div><p>Phil reeled back, his face aghast. Another laugh escaped him, the metal in his hands burning him. Not Will, not this. He shook his head, not wanting to believe the words streaming out of Wilbur’s mouth “I-”</p>
<p>“Phil, kill me.” Wilbur’s eyes were alight and expectant, gazing at Phil in sheer determination. Phil had never seen such a look about him before. He would never be able to scrub this from his mind. The man before him begging for death, so trusting in Phil to end his existence. “I can’t-” Nerves crawled up his spine and he staggered back, shutting his eyes tight as if that would change anything happening before him. “YOU’RE MY SON!” His wings flared painfully behind him, a defense mechanism so strong that even the clobbered wing stretched as far as its burnt self could. A beat passed between the two before his eyes slowly blinked open, tears welling up and bubbling over as he took in the distraught yet wildly ecstatic man before him.</p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>
    <em>CAN A FELLA GET A LITTLE FUCKING CATHARSIS AROUND HERE OR NOT?!?!?</em>
  </p>
</div><p>“PHIL, KILL ME!” Wilbur bellowed back at him, grasping his hands that held the sword and shoving them close to his body. Phil’s breath hitched as he struggled against the force. His head shook robotically, hands trying so hard to drop the sword, but stopped by Will’s proximity. They wrested for a moment before Phil found the resolve to break free, still clutching the sword as he took single steps back. It shook in his grasp as he cast a wounded look upon Wilbur. </p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>
    <em>...</em>
  </p>
</div><p>“Don't matter what you do, don't matter what you've done, I can't!” He cried, the sword finally clattering to the ground. His knees felt weak, like he wanted to collapse right then and there and never move again. This was his son. He couldn’t kill his son. A person doesn’t just kill their own son, even if they’re begging for it, right? </p>
<p></p><div>
  <p><em>Oh, God, I'm so fucked... sorry. Sorry.</em> </p>
</div><p>Wilbur spun out at this response, swirling around to smack his fist against what was left of the wall next to him. Pain reverberated through his hand and he could see Phil wince from the corner of his eye. “Phil! This isn't- it’s- LOOK, LOOK HOW MUCH WORK WENT INTO THIS, and it's gone.” His shoulders heaved, his dam threatening to break. He couldn’t keep living, he couldn’t keep going, couldn’t Phil just understand that he needed it to stop now?! This was his own doing, his own creation that he decimated with his own hand. The cycle was completed. </p>
<p>Phil looked, he truly looked. In fact, it was nearly impossible not to look, to not see the immense destruction that had been caused. The shattered buildings, limping friends. Belongings were scattered, ruins smoldering, rocks threatening the lives of survivors if they stood too close to a landslide. All by Will. Good god. </p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>
    <em>...</em>
  </p>
</div><p>The sword bounced off the light that shone through the cracks in the ceiling, calling out to Phil. He was going to have to do this, wasn’t he? His movements didn’t seem like his own. He was standing up, he was grabbing the sword, he was walking towards Wilbur, but none of it seemed like him. He felt his body take a breath and locked eyes with Will, one final time. </p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>
    <em>I fucking shoot myself! Or not. Or…</em>
  </p>
</div><p>“Do it. Do it.” Wilbur egged him on, seeing the vacant stare in the man’s eyes. He guided the sword, pointed it directly in the middle of his chest. Sighing, he closed his eyes and gathered his wits. He felt Phil’s tears drop on his skin, weeping silently as Wilbur gasped. It was far more freezing than he thought it would be. More painful. Yet, it felt as kind as a friend. </p>
<p>His eyes fluttered open against his will, he hadn’t meant for them to, he hadn’t wanted to see. His connection to living was tethered, hanging on by a string as he struggled to collect his thoughts. Phil’s anguished face floated before him as his body fell forwards into his arms. Wilbur hadn’t even realized he was swooning, no idea that they were now on the ground. He was embraced, lovingly, gently, despite all odds. A small smile lined the edge of his lips as blood dribbled from his mouth. His final image was that of L’manberg, its once pristine image now totaled before him, by him. </p>
<p>It was always meant to be.</p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>
    <em>Stop the fucking play. </em>
  </p>
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